For one agonizing, suspended second, Rex held the strike above him. The sphere of swirling violet and crimson energy hummed with a predatory hunger, casting grotesque, dancing shadows across Leonidas's dying face.
This was not a display of cruelty; it was pure, cold calculation. Rex didn't hesitate because he didn't feel the need to.
A dead Leonidas would be a clean, undeniable message to Aethelgard, a lesson written in blood that no court could ignore.
Moreover, it would remove the final obstacle between him and Helena. He could already envision the path ahead: the broken man removed, the grief fresh, and the woman left vulnerable to the kind of seduction that required a predator's touch.
Rex drew his arm back. The muscles in his shoulder coiled like steel cables.
Then, he let it fall.
'It never landed.'
The world didn't just change; it shattered.
